It was dark. It was not a nightmare. The darkness there had a familiar touch to it but here the darkness was a mere lack of light and not the living terror which tried to consume him each night.

This wasn't his room. He could tell that he'd been kidnapped. Although that seemed like an exaggeration. He could feel Stephan's grubby taste all over this situation.

'Where was it this time.' He thought sarcastically. He tried to find humor in this turn of events.

'Always trusting people…A prison…a lab…and now another prison…you only learn when its too late.' Asher muttered to himself, anticipating Regret’s words. He’d rather hear them from his own mouth than deal with her suffocating voice.

When he tried to move his body he realized that his arms were shackled.

"We're stuck...we're dead...we'll die." Fear spoke. The boyish voice was hard to predict. It was erratic and unreasonable at the best of times...and damned annoying at times like this.

Stephan's lesson paid off when his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness.

Heavy iron chains was what bound his hands. They extended towards what seemed like a barricaded gate. The gate was dull and metallic but jagged lines ran across it.

'Claw marks...' Asher summarized as he ran his hand across them.

He squatted and grabbed a fistful of the ground.

'Just had to be sand…' Asher hated the grainy sensation. It wouldn't warrant a reaction out of him but he needed something to focus on or else he'd think of how small this cell was. He hated tight spaces with a passion. They brought back bad memories.

He took a deep breath. Asher had trained for almost a year now. He was 13 and he had to act like it. He eventually stood up and examined his body.

There was no trace of his nightwear. He was wearing rags and a tattered cloak. A wooden mask was strapped to his face with a lock.

"Leave…LEAVE…LEAVE…ESCAPE!" Fear screamed. Asher didn't know if fear was also afraid of small spaces or if it was an extension of his own fear. The nuances of its existence escaped him at times like these.

At one point he read through some psychology books but knowing about a condition doesn't cure it…unless he wanted some experimental lobotomy or sorcery.

He stood up again just as he began to move, he stumbled and fell to the ground. He cursed and grabbed onto the thing that tripped him. It was round and rigid.

'A skull…see...they were kind enough to decorate this time around.' He mused. Humor kept the anxiety in check. He rolled the skull on his finger and throw it to the side before he decided to just lean back on the gate.

'Got to save up my strength.' He could probably break his wrist to escape the shackles, but he thought he'd use that trick later and surprise his captives.

Asher placed his ear against the iron gate, listening for any clues, but all he could hear were the dusty wisps of wind carrying low murmurs.

"Charming." Ignoring the gate, his gaze moved to the rest of the cell but there wasn't really anything to look at. Stone walls in all directions and a gaping hole in the ceiling. He was dropped from there he guessed.

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His train of thought was cut short by the abrupt motion of his hands jerking to the right. The chains around his wrists began pulling him toward the iron gate. His wrists tugged violently against the iron shackles, and the harder he resisted, the stronger the pull became—dragging him through the sand with relentless force until the gate swung open, just before his head slammed into it.

As his eyes adjusted to the light, he found himself in a huge field of sand, lit by the most massive cluster of glammerstone he had ever seen. It hung from the ceiling of what he assumed was a large cave made into an arena of sorts.

The cavernous arena was ringed by high stone walls, topped with a chain-linked net to prevent escape. Bones and rusted weapons scattered across the sandy arena floor, relics of past challengers or captives.

'CLICK' The shackles around his arms fell on their own and swiftly disappeared beneath the sand.

Across the net, shadowy figures occupied stone bleachers and wooden chairs, their murmurs barely audible over the faint roar of the crowd. Asher felt a surge of unease at the sight of such a large gathering—crowds were another thing he abhorred.

'Always the spectacle...always failing when it mattered most.' Regret quipped.

He didn't have the time to express how he hated the sound of Regret's voice because his attention was drawn to another gate a distance away, where sickening snarls emanated. The snarls were replaced by repeated angry pounding on the gate that barely held together.

Asher would've loved to play 'guess the monster' but a man's shout echoed suddenly across the arena as some lights began together at a podium in the center of the bleachers.

"In the free plains of crime and chaos. Hhhhere in the paradise of sin, the Fangs bids you dishonorable guests the warmest of welcomes into the Ripper's Ring!" A voice called out from the podium which began to move around. It swung around the arena in a circular motion as glammerstone lights slowly pointed at it.

"Today is special! We start our bloody show with a newcomer…a wee short man seeking to end the blood feud, ooooor is he going to become food for the Barberian's Pets?" The announcer was a tanned man with a red mohawk and flashy clothe. He rioted the bored crowd into a frenzy.

"In one corner we have a shortie with a mask…A mystery in raaaags…The unfashionable underdog." He pointed at Asher but the crowd was only full of scoffs and laughter.

"On this side we haaavee….The crowd favorite…The Unnnndefeated champion…The Southerner who turns his exes into Ghoooouls…Boryx the Barbarian!" The entire ring cheered this time around as the iron gate opened revealing three figures.

The first was a tall well-built man, dragging two chains behind him. His dusty caramel skin, decorated with intricate dark green tattoos, stood in stark contrast to the coarse wool blazer that revealed his muscular arms.

Atop his head, he wore the skull of a beast, its twin horns curving menacingly, and around his neck hung a necklace of teeth, each one a grim trophy of past conquests that the tribes of the southern continent liked to display.

Boryx held two chains that extended behind him and another rolled around in his right hand with a sickle attached to its end. The two chains in his right were attached to disgusting monstrosities which Asher recognized...Ghouls.

From what he knew of the creatures a tinge of pity erupted which he quickly snuffed out. He was better off making a plan than dwelling on useless thoughts.

'I'll make it quick...for their sake.' He thought, eyeing the arena.

Both ghouls were thin and deformed with no facial features. Flesh grew to cover most of their face except the jaw. No flesh could cover the serrated teeth and blood curdling screams that came out of these monstrosities.

A mess of hair and blots of dried-up blood littered their fleshy bodies. The exposed flesh was a mixture of pink and stark red.

The first ghoul, tall and ghastly, had very long nails that dragged behind it lazily. Its bare, skeletal breasts hung obscenely from its emaciated frame, swaying with each movement.

The second ghoul was a hulking brute, shorter but immensely broad, with bones protruding from its flesh like a grotesque second skin. Its entire body seemed to be a patchwork of exposed sinew and jagged bone.

Asher didn't pay attention to the crowd settling down nor the barbarian who scoffed as he stared at the short man in front of him. He was busy eyeing a pair of long knives…Kukris which were a few feet away at the center of the arena.

"NOOOW TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT TO SEE!" The announcer rioted the crowd who responded with a vile cacophony.

"BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!"

As the audience's fervor intensified, Boryx released his chains, casting a defiant gesture towards what seemed like a VIP section made of glass that stood above the bleachers. The Ghouls lunged towards Asher.

Taking a deep breath, Asher steeled himself.

'No better time to prove myself.'